The most honored titles this year of Olympic Sojutsu and World Champion Kali Arnis are hereby bestowed upon the esteemed Mister Damien Parker, in honor of his unmatched proficiency, unshakeable devotion, and remarkable performance on the international level.
Everyone can hear it, plain and irrefutable.
They all know it, the truth echoing in every direction. The announcer's voice booms out for all to know once again that I have won back the World Champion title.
"!!"
There it is again, the crowd roaring, the announcer's voice echoing out my name. It never grows old, that instant where the world pauses to recognize you.
When all your efforts, all the scars, all the sweat are seen not only as work, but as perfection.
They hear it. They know it. I've done it again.
Not by accident, not luck, but blood, accuracy, and unyielding discipline.
Sojutsu, Kali Arnis. the names of blade and motion, of rhythm and reflex, and I learned them. Again.
But behind this triumph. I see the hours nobody claps. The failures, the loneliness, the agony I concealed behind each training session.
This title, World Champion, it is not a crown. It is a weight that I elect to bear. Time and time again.
Let them cheer. Let them hear the voice proclaiming my name. Because below the glory, I know the truth:
I was built to win. and I'm not finished yet.
And I know, this is not another triumph.
This is the tenth time I've won the title of World Champion. Not only in this area, not only within the parameters of this so-called Olympic platform. No, I've been on top in so many international championships prior to this, in so many disciplines, in so many countries.
Time and time again, I've proved myself. It isn't a matter of luck, it's the legacy I've cut for myself.
"Mr. Damien, everybody in the world knows that you're now 39 years old, but you still have the body and muscles of a man in his prime. It's nothing less than phenomenal. The question in everyone's mind is, do you plan to keep competing in martial arts at this level, or do you plan to step into a coaching position to share your legacy with the next generation?"
The interviewers asked me the question as I sat in my chair, relaxed and unruffled, looking straight ahead of me at the cameraman. The lights were intense on me, the room tense in anticipation.
I could sense the gravity of the moment, not only as a champion, but as a man who was at the junction of legacy and evolution.
I've answered this question so many times, by reporters, fans, even competitors. At this point, it's like déjà vu. Seriously, it's like that meme: "I've played this game before" from a popular series.
And like the meme, this moment goes down exactly the same way each time. The words shift a bit, the voices change, but the question is the same, and so is my response.
Unmoving and unyielding.
I reclines slightly, eyes unwavering, voice steady but firm.
"You know. it's a question I've learned to expect. At every title, after every victory, someone's always asking it. 'What next, Mr. Parker? Will you coach? Will you remain in the game?' And every time, it's like it happens outside of reality, like I'm strolling through a memory I've lived before. Déjà vu in a loop. And yet, every time, I do smile, because the response is always the same. No. I won't coach. And I won't remain in the ring. Not out of fatigue. Not out of loss of vigor or loss of pace. No, I remain standing at the pinnacle, body bruised but unbroken, mind sharper than ever. But precisely for that reason, I also know it's time to leave. You see, I've dedicated half-lives to this way. I've bled for it, fractured bones for it, given up time, relationships, even fragments of myself no one ever sees. Ten world championships. Donors' bunches of international accolades. I've tackled every mountain I've ever set eyes on. And I conquered them not merely to win, but to prove something. To the world. To myself. And I did. But now…? Now, I want to live, not fight. I want to wake without an alarm screaming at 4 A.M. I want to stroll along the ocean without the wind speed's calculation for training. I want to laugh without concern for my oxygen supply. I want to savor food without it being measured out in calories, and wine without the guilt. I want to see the world with no tournaments awaiting at the end of the flight. I want to breathe. Martial arts taught me discipline, gave me reason, and forged the man I am today. But I wasn't born to be a fighter forever. I was born to be free. So no, I won't be a coach. I won't live through another's blows or shadow another's triumphs. It's time for a new page, one upon which the roar of the crowd recedes and all that remains is silence, serenity… and me, finally, simply being Damien Parker. And I'm ready for that existence. I've earned it."
"…"
There was a silence between the interviewers, momentary, but weighty. Their eyes were something between awe and tacit comprehension. But it was not only them.
Around the world, in living rooms, cafes, gyms, and sports stadiums, the world held its breath. Televisions glowed with my face, but not a sound was made. The applause had yet to begin.
The cheers had not been reignited. For one moment, merely one, everything was frozen. Speechless.
Because they knew.
They weren't simply watching a career come to an end.
They were watching the closing of the final chapter in a legend.
.
.
.
Then,
Click—! Click—! Click—!
Camera flashes illuminated the room as they went off quickly, capturing every detail with hushed, increasing applause. Meanwhile, throughout the world, a tidal wave of confusion and heated debate spread, people everywhere responding sharply to my choice, generating chaos and controversy.
Newspapers went around in a flash, and reports poured in from all parts of the globe.
Then, once again, I faced the camera and wished everyone farewell.
"To all those who supported me along the way, thank you. Every obstacle, every triumph, every second was made worthwhile because of you. As I step out of the limelight and close this chapter of my life, I take with me all the memories, the learnings, and the love that this journey has bestowed upon me. It's time for me to discover new horizons, new aspirations beyond the ring. Although I leave the competition behind, I shall never forget what this journey has taught me about strength, resilience, and honor. So, from the bottom of my heart, goodbye, not as a champion, but as someone who's ready to live freely and fully."
I swallowed a bit of saliva and uttered the final two words.
"Goodnight, world."
*****
And after the celebrations of his win and the harsh interview, Damien eventually got home. He drove his car into the garage and entered the peaceful warmth of his living room.
His living area was bathed in quiet opulence, expansive, refined, and carefully crafted. Floor-to-ceiling windows that dominated the space looked out over a secluded garden bathed in the warm ambiance of gentle lights, filtering a peaceful glow into the room.
Dark oak panels and subdued stone covered the walls, adorned with minimalist, top-of-the-line artwork and precious relics from every corner of the globe.
A deep black, custom-stitched L-shaped leather sofa dominated the space at the center on a Persian silk rug, its design intricate and full of color. Across from it, an ultra-sleek marble fireplace ran under a wall-hung, razor-thin OLED screen.
Overhead, a crystal chandelier sparkled with muted light, refracting throughout the space with understated opulence.
Bookcases of dark walnut occupied one wall of the room, filled with first editions and personal diaries, and on the opposite wall stood a glass-fronted cabinet displaying trophies, medals, and artifacts of Damien's fabled career.
The air was just scented with sandalwood and old whiskey, sophisticated, as in the man who resided there. Every square of the room whispered riches, but not the sort that had to yell, this was a richness that was earned, lived in, and worn like a second skin.
As Damien settled into the rich hug of his leather couch, the quiet of the room enveloped him like a warm cloak.
He slowly uncoiled his wrist, the sparkle of his designer watch reflecting the faint chandelier light. The face glowed softly, 00:58 A.M. Nearly 1 o'clock in the morning.
The day was done, the world outside was peaceful, but within him. echoes still roamed.
Then a soft, almost bitter smile pulled at the edge of Damien's mouth. He leaned back, lids half-closed with fatigue as he slowly let out a breath.
Under his breath, he grunted with a dry laugh, "Haa, peaceful life, my ass. It's almost time."
The silence around him stayed undisturbed, but his words hung, heavy, foreboding, like a pre-storm quiet only he knew was brewing.
"Erythroblastopenia with Megaloblastic Anemia," he growled, sneering under his breath. "What a damn mouthful… Who the hell names things like that?"
He rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward, his eyes glued to the ground as if there lay the answer.
"And to think, it's linked with anemia. I didn't even realize I had it until three months ago."
His tone was level, but the bitterness there was undeniable, a silent conflict between incredulity and acceptance.
"Haa…" he sighed, the type that originated from way down deep, a sigh full of unspoken thoughts.
"Life's really short, huh…" he said under his breath, his eyes far away as if gazing past the walls of his luxurious mansion.
"I don't even know what would've happened today… if I had told them about it in the interview. That I'm living today and I know it's my last… that I'm exiting this world tonight."
The silence that ensued was deafening. Not dramatic, just final.
"Well… uggh… umm… uhhh…" Damien yawned softly as he stretched, his body muscles still aching from the strain of the day.
Slowly getting up, he crossed over to the room and retrieved a crystal glass from the counter.
He turned on the faucet, allowing filtered water to flow smoothly before filling the glass. Holding it to his lips, he sipped at it slowly, feeling the coldness make him present in the moment.
Then, placing the glass down with soft finality, he murmured to himself,
"Alright then… let's just sleep, leave this world quietly, without pain… like a dream that never wakes."
Damien made his way slowly to his bedroom, every step resonating softly within the still halls of his house. At the door, he stopped and his gaze fell upon the large, king-sized bed, freshly made, not a crease to be found since morning.
He lingered for a few reluctant seconds, just looking, as though committing the vision to memory.
Then, taking a deep breath, he crept out and lay down, the bed enveloping him like a warm hug. He gazed up at the ceiling, the pressure of it all finally released.
With a slight grin and a murmur barely heard in the blackness, he whispered,
"Goodnight, world… for real this time."
And with that, he reached out… and turned off the light.
Click—!
*****
In the vast expanse of absolute darkness, where no light dared exist and only shadows reigned, a figure stood motionless, its presence both surreal and suffocating. The air around it seemed to warp, bending unnaturally as if reality itself struggled to accommodate its form.
Its form was vaguely human, shrouded in shifting darkness that seemed to writhe like smoke. A neck protruded from its midsection, uncannily human in shape, but where its face ought to have been, there lay only a void, featureless except for a pair of eyes.
Those eyes. bottomless, shining with an unnatural calm, like two chasms fixed on the soul.
With a gruesome creak, the creature's neck stretched abnormally, tilting forward as though to bridge the gap between itself and the unknown presence before it.
Then, in a voice that was not that of any living organism, a voice that sounded as though an animal growled through the cathedral of dreams, it spoke:
"Welcome back, Mr. Damien Parker. Again."